Page 35 of The Next Mrs Bennet

W illiam was not happy, even though he respected Richard’s choice of career, that his cousin was in the army—the Royal Dragoons of the regulars—and was a Captain.

Over the years, there was not one of his male cousins he was closer to than Richard Fitzwilliam—they were separated by less than a year with Richard being four and twenty and William three and twenty. William had been somewhat close to Lawrence and Warren Portnoy, four and twenty and one and twenty respectively, and Anthony Barrington, two and twenty, not to mention Andrew Fitzwilliam who was six and twenty,

Being there was less than a year in age separating Richard and William, they had done everything together as they grew older, brothers in every way except not being born of the same mother. Richard could have entered Eton a year ahead of William, but he had elected to wait for his slightly younger cousin. As such, they had been together from the first day they had begun at Eton until the day they graduated from Cambridge when William had been one and twenty and Richard one year older.

Since the first year they had begun their studies away from home, Richard had insisted he would join the regular army.

His parents, his brother, his Darcy aunt and uncle, and even Anna had tried to convince Richard to select a different path for his profession. None had argued longer and harder than William.

Eventually, William recognised Richard had made his choice. From that point on, as much as he hated the idea of Richard being in harm’s way, William supported his brother of the heart completely.

The stubborn horse's arse which was his cousin had refused to accept any commission purchased by his father above second lieutenant. He was adamant he would earn his promotions from that point on. It had not taken Richard long to attain the rank of lieutenant. He was well suited for the army and William had to admit Richard was not built to make sermons or be a fiery orator as a barrister.

On the eighteenth day of May 1803, all of William’s and the family’s fears for Richard’s wellbeing had become much more real when war had been declared on France, led by the little Corsican, who became the self-anointed emperor in May 1804.

So far Richard, who had become Captain Fitzwilliam in 1805, had been in the peninsula with his company once, for six months.

Much to William’s and all of the family’s relief, Richard had returned to England sans any wounds of which to speak of. All he and the rest of the family could pray for was for the same to continue and for Richard to be protected from any serious harm, or worse.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Over the years as daughter after daughter had been born, Fanny Bennet had been plagued by what she called her nerves. Not a day went by she did not bemoan the entail and curse the Bennet who had instituted it.

Her opinions on the unfairness of entailing an estate away from its rightful owners was something on which she harped almost as much. In her mind, the heir presumptive was nothing more than a thief. The name Collins was considered an expletive in the house.

Bennet had no face-to-face contact with the Collins family for many years, who by now were very distant cousins. The current patriarch, one Clem Collins, who was illiterate, had a letter written for him some years past in which he had gleefully announced the birth of a son, named Clem William Collins.

Each time news had spread about another daughter for the Bennets, said illiterate man had someone write a letter of congratulations . Bennet hated the name Collins almost as much as his wife did.

On this particular day, the Friday after Easter, Bennet was especially thankful for the thick oak door which separated his sanctuary, which was his study, from the rest of the house. His wife was screeching at Jane and Lizzy about the gowns they would wear to the spring assembly that very evening.

Two hours since his wife had invaded his peace, he imagined he could still hear her voice reverberating around his study regardless of how much he would have liked to forget it.

The study door had been flung open without so much as a knock. If Bennet thought it would have made a difference he may have taken the time to voice his objections to his wife bursting into his study in such a rude manner.

From past experience Bennet knew it would only lead to even more screeching, so he said nothing in order to keep the frail peace.

“Mr. Bennet, how well it is for our Jane,” Fanny had exclaimed at high volume.

“Mrs. Bennet, of what do you speak?” Bennet had enquired. “I am not aware of what you are referring to. What has whatever you are on about to do with Jane?”

“How you like to vex me. My sister was here not an hour ago and told me that a man of exceptional wealth, and possibly a peer of the realm has taken all of the rooms at the Red Lion Inn for his exclusive use,” Fanny blabbered.

“Mayhap I am a simpleton, but I still fail to see what that news has to do with us.”

“Hattie heard from Lady Lucas, who heard from Mrs. Goulding, who heard from Mrs. Browning…”

“Who is Mrs. Browning?”

“The landlady of the Red Lion Inn! Why do you not pay attention when I tell you important news from the neighbourhood?”

Bennet knew the only way he would have his study for himself again was to allow his wife to relate her fantastically important piece of gossip. “Go ahead Mrs. Bennet, I am all ears and in great anticipation of this wonderous news.”

As always, sarcasm went right over his silly wife’s head.

“According to what Hattie was told, the man is single and more importantly his heir is no longer alive so he has to marry to beget an heir.”

“Just like you gave me,” Bennet riposted in sotto voce .

“What was that?” Fanny demanded.

“Nothing Mrs. Bennet, I was clearing my throat. Please continue this earth-shaking news so I may return to my work.”

“He prefers a lady from the country rather than some stuck up woman from so called polite society! Do you not see what this means for Jane?”

Bennet was aware at eighteen Jane was an unrivalled beauty, except for Lizzy that was. He could not voice his opinion about Lizzy rivalling or possibly exceeding Jane’s beauty, which when you took her vivacity and intelligence into account made her a far better catch than her older sister. If he voiced his opinions on the matter he would never hear the end of it from his wife who told one and all, whether they wanted to know or not, Lizzy was nothing in looks to Jane. Anyone with eyes in the neighbourhood knew his wife was wrong, but over the years they had learnt to keep from saying anything contradictory to the Bennet matron.

That was not only to keep her from a vitriolic diatribe. But out of view of others, Fanny would find some way to punish Lizzy for the crime of others thinking her beautiful.

“I still do not know what this means for Jane.”

“Why do you try to vex me? When he sees Jane’s beauty he will have no choice but to offer for her and we will be saved! If he is wealthy enough to take the whole of the inn then he will be able to afford to save me…us from the hedgerows.”

Fanny had waved a lace square as the excitement of her Jane being married to a peer of the realm became a sure thing in her mind. “Is that all, Mrs. Bennet?” Bennet queried shortly.

Thankfully his wife had been too far lost in her imaginings to pick up on his tone of voice. “To Meryton! I must purchase more lace!” With that Fanny turned and almost ran out of the study screeching for Mrs. Hill to attend her as she did.

As she had not closed the door, Bennet stood and did so, except this time he turned the key in the lock. He knew his wife had almost as much lace in the house as the local haberdashery, but he had stopped himself from commenting on that fact.

Here they were, his wife screeching for more lace to be added to Jane’s gown while giving orders, only to contradict them not a moment later.

He did not pay the Hills, the long suffering butler-valet and housekeeper, nearly enough money to put up with his wife’s mercurial moods.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

His Grace, Lord Archibald Winston Chamberlain sat in the largest chamber at the god-forsaken inn in this nowhere town.

If only his idiot son had not been discovered to have the pox before the fool died. Had he married, if his son had not been up to the job, he himself would have been able to impregnate the girl. Damn the Earl of Tamarin and spreading the information about Archy’s malady to one and all.

It was thanks to his former fathers-in-law, first the sanctimonious Baron, Lord Maidenhall, and then the Earl of Gryffinwood who had spread the rumours of his so-called mistreatment of his wives which had led to all doors of members of the Ton to be closed to him leading him to this backwater.

At almost seven and sixty—in his own opinion—he was a fit and virile man.

The inconvenient truth was he was corpulent, sometimes had a hard time catching his breath, had a ruddy complexion, and partook in many dangerous activities, the most of which was forcing himself on married women.

Like other men of rank and wealth, Lord Hertfordshire believed his money and standing would always protect him from his own actions.

He would lower himself to attend the local assembly this evening. He had to see if there was one, who would come close, to meeting his criteria he wanted in his third wife. He was not confident, but one never knew.

She needed to be pretty, that was for sure, he would not bed a homely woman, but vivacity was, and always would be, the most important thing. Some intelligence would not hurt.

As he thought of what he sought, the Duke salivated thinking of how much pleasure he would take in breaking such a woman—after she had delivered an heir of course. As much as he hated to restrict his pleasure, his first priority was the all-important son. He would do whatever he needed to in order to insure he was not the last of his line. If that meant he would have to tamp down his own inclinations until his son was at least one year in age, so be it.

There was no doubt in his mind he would have his new wife in the family way within a month of his marriage. He had not decided where yet, but he would banish his wife to one of his many estates when she was confirmed with child, that way he would reduce the temptation to begin her education before the boy’s first birthday.

There was a knock on the chamber door. “Come,” Hertfordshire rasped.

His valet and the young man who would do anything the Duke asked of him entered the chamber. Both gave him respectful bows.

“Well?” the Duke prompted.

“The best looking girls in the area are sisters named Bennet. Only two of them are out, one is a little older than eighteen and the other sixteen,” the valet reported.

The fact he was almost fifty years one’s senior and more than that for the other meant nothing to Hertfordshire. “Characters?”

“In my enquiries I discovered the older, a bland, blonde, willowy one with blue eyes, is very serene and far too compliant for you, however, the younger one, dark hair, rather petite with emerald-green eyes may have the gumption you seek,” the younger man informed his employer.

“Then it seems this may not be a complete waste of my time,” Hertfordshire stated as he steepled his fingers in thought. He waved his men away and began to mentally prepare himself to mix with those so far below him at the assembly upcoming.